The Drabbletines
by St.st.stutter
Summary: Yuffietine—a collection of fifteen drabbles and oneshots. — all those silly wishes written on the backs of paper hearts never brought him back. —Bruised;
1. Silk and Diamonds

_Authors Note:_ And heeeere it is.

**Rating: **K+  
**Pairings: **Yuffie x Vincent  
**Notes:** This used to be the third drabble. On account of the other two being total crap, this is now the first.  
**Music:** N.A.  
**Timeline: **Two years after Omega.  
**Drabbletine Summary:** Bored of Reno's dancing comments, Yuffie seeks out different company.  
**Disclaimer**: The day if get enough gil – uh... _money_ to buy FFVII from Square Enix will be a national holiday. Until that day, I own nothing.

_**Drabbletine **(noun);_ A drabble-oneshot about Vincent and Yuffie (and Co.) written by Latte.

_**The Drabbletines **(proper noun); _a collection of drabbles/oneshots (fifteen to be exact) that are all universally centered on Vincent and Yuffie (and Co.). They may be good writing (Huh, not likely) or they may be bad writing, (Heh, very likely.) but they're still... uh... drabbletines (Stretch of the imagination, that one.). O.o;;

...

* * *

...

_**silk and diamonds;;**_

It was a traditional, Wutainese party – just like all the others Godo had forced me to attend.

I hate, hate, hate, hate, HATE, **HATE, **them all. Why? Because each "party" is a disguise to try to shove _another_ stupid, fat, rolly-polly, pig at me and say, "Here – marry it!" These pigs are normally classified as human beings, but I'm petitioning against that.

Also – _ALSO! _– As if it's not bad enough that I have to _see_ them, I have to _smell _them too, because he always makes me dance.

Can you say **total grossness?**

Yeah, I didn't think so. You're too busy vomiting at the thought.

And if all that isn't enough, he _always_ makes me dress up traditionally! He made me wear the Bun of Tearing Hair, the Earrings of Heavy Diamonds, The Necklace of Terrible Suffocation, the Kimono of Crushed Torso, the Obi of Deformed Diaphragm, the (heavy) Bracelets of Breaking Wrists, and the Slippers of Squished Feet. Oh, and my Mom's decorative comb in my hair – but that's not bad. Well, once I nearly tore my head off my neck because it was stuck in my hair, but I wouldn't call that... _bad_, per se.

_Aanndd_, as if this combined wasn't enough, he makes me drop being a ninja for the party. No shuriken, no throwing knives, no bindings, no _Materia_, no **nothing!** It's terrible. And, I have to wear makeup.

I'm supposed to look 'pretty.' I guess I do.

Now do we see why I hate these? Thought so.

Where were we?

Right, party.

Now, this one was better than most. Why? Well, my friends were there, for one, and Reno was there. I'm sorry! – Did I say it was _better_ than most...? Well, it was slightly better. I mean, at least I'm not dancing with "humans" that smell like pigs (and dance like them.).

I'm dancing with Reno. I guess I have to be grateful that he volunteered, but as I expected, Reno isn't the best dancer.

Why?

Because he's constantly whispering in my ear, "Oh, that girl over there is cute..."

I swear, if I have to listen to one more minute of this...

"Hey! That girl over there –" Something violent and sadistic rose in me. Oh, I had been waiting for this moment of bliss for such a very, very long time.

A well-aimed, unobtrusive kick was all he needed. He doubled over.

"Stomach ache?" I inquired in innocent empathy. "You can go sit down over there." I indicated a chair, ignoring the jingling I made (stupid bracelets...). "It's fine – it would be cruel to make you dance in pain." I firmly steered him to the chair, gave him a cheeky wink (not sure if he caught it, he was too busy cursing) and exited the dance floor.

"Yuffie!"

Tifa. Oh great...

"Hello, Tifa! You look beautiful tonight!" This much was true. "It's great to see you!" Half-truth. It was awesome to see her, of course, but if I spent too much time with her, I'd learn the, "Cloud Is Awesome" handbook by heart.

Lovers can be **so **annoying at times...

"It's wonderful to see you too, Yuffie! You look beautiful!"

Er, matter of opinion.

The top layer of my hair was drawn up in a sleek bun (I thought it looked like I had been hit very hard. On the head. With a mallet.). The rest of my hair was left to fall across my shoulders in a very stylish way. With two years gone after Omega attacked, my hair had grown to about the top of my ribcage.

But I swear, if this bun gets any tighter...

My neck showcased my mother's diamond-y necklace - strands of silver emblazoned with diamonds, networked together. The necklace was accompanied by long, dangly, diamond-y earrings. _Heavy_ diamond earrings. Can you say, 'ears are down by my toes'?

I fingered the silk of my kimono. It was... okay. Beautiful was stretching it a bit too far. The materials consisted of the finest Wutainese, handcrafted silk, and so smooth that it slipped through your fingers. The neckline was, in my opinion, dangerously low (the kind of low that should be outlawed, but... I guess that was just my opinion). The silk of the kimono was a deep red, embellished with barely distinguishable, stitched gold-and-black birds and flowers. The sleeves attached to the back, creating a fluttery, draping effect made specifically for when I was dancing, so they would spin out and be all 'whoa cool!' But it was tight and my ribs were hurting.

My obi was a deep, dark, blood-red silk with a strip of black silk on the top and bottom. It was tied in a large bow in the back. Did I mention my diaphragm was currently in utter pain and anguish?

The kimono was long, reaching to my feet, where two black, silken slippers should have been. I had taken them off when dancing. My feet were feeling rather crushed.

The ensemble was my mother's, which was the only reason I wasn't tearing it off and running away in my bra and undies, cackling about monkeys.

"You like nice, too." This was total truth. She was wearing a burgundy halter-dress. It wasn't the most traditional garb – that's why I told her to wear it, thus thwarting my father. See? I'm so smart.

And whoah, I get so much more descriptive detail than she does. Score.

"Thanks. Did you see Cloud?"

Uh...

"Somewhere in that area." I pointed vaguely in a direction far, far away from me.

"Thanks. Well, I have to go force him on the dance floor. Bye!"

"Bye."

Whew. I'm glad that's over.

I continued my interrupted way to the balcony, fending off two perverts and making a break for freedom.

Score!

Upon entering the balcony, I felt my diaphragm start working again.

The air in those places is _so_ stuffy! It's like two hundred people started flatulating (is that a word? Well, you get the picture) around the room.

Oh wait. That's what they're doing.

Well... maybe not. But still.

_Oh look – Vincent! _Wow. Who would have thought that Mr. Vampire would have ran and hid at the first mention of dancing? I don't even know why he came, to tell you the truth.

I mean it was creepy. Creepy-creepy. He just said he'd come. And like, I didn't even have to do any puppy-eyes. It was the **creepiest** moment of my life.

...

* * *

...

"_Hey, guys! How do I look?"_

_I was dressed in my formal, black-red kimono, with the hair and jewelry to boot. It was three days before the party, and I wanted to make sure that the costum – _outfit_ was okay by Tifa's standards._

"_That looks really nice." Said bartender said. (Whoah, confusing.)_

"_Really? I don't like it that much…"_

"_I think it's beautiful. Just, uh, why do you need this?"_

"_Oh, I haven't _told_ you? Silly me." All master planning here… "Well, there's this formal/traditional party that my dad is whisking me off to. And I was thinking, actually, Tifa… maybe you guys could come, 'cause my dad is making me dance, so unless Reno, or Reeve come, I'm stuck dancing with a pig."_

"_Oh. I know _I'd _love to come, but I don't know about…"_

_Turning away from me, the woman put her hands on her hips. "Where is he anyway?"_

_Whop-oh. Not good._

"**CLOUD!**_"_

_****! my ears hurt now. I needed remember to stop her when she got into moods like that._

_There was a loud bang from the garage, and in rushed said swordsman, looking ready to fight any type of monster you might find in a kitchen._

"_Wh-what?"_

"_I wanted to know if you'd be interested in going to a party in Wutai."_

_Tifa's voice was ever-so-polite, as if she hadn't just screamed at (for, but it's the same difference) him._

"_Wha…? Oh," Comprehension dawned its illuminating and instructive rays upon the young man's face. "Oh, uh… sure."_

"_Wow, Cloud." My voice was dripping with cold, deadly sarcasm. "Don't sound so excited about it – we'll think you really want to go."_

"_Hey! No! I do – I was just getting – I really – I was getting bearings - !"_

"_Yeah, something you obviously have a lot of right now." Ohh! Venomous, pointed sarcasm! Sweet, sweet sarcasm!_

_He gave me a hurt look._

"_Oh, I'm so sorry, Cloud." __OHMYWORD! MORE SARCASM! Fracturing, breaking, **ego-puncturing** sarcasm. Thank Leviathan for it._

"_I really do want to go." He said calmly and clearly, with an underlying note that told me he'd angst over this for the rest of the year._

"_Oh. Okay!" I replied bright and cheery, with a hint of never letting him forget this._

_Now… let's see…_

_Well, I knoew I couldn't invite Cid or Barrett – too annoying. Reno – definitely, I don't want to dance with pigs. Reeve – if he wants to come. Shelke – _no!_ The little... urgh. _Be nice_, I had to remind meself. Meeself. Meshelf? My shelf? Myself. There we go._

_Back to the list: If he wanted to come, Vinnie. Tifa – duh. Cloud – double duh. Marly and Denzy should sit this one out, I decided._

_Red? He didn't like parties…_

_Cait Sith! Oh yeah!_

Uh… I think that's all. I'll go ask Vinnie myself since he's sitting over there looking all mopey and everything. Ugh, sometimes it makes me feel sick how much he angsts over her! Right, uh, I don't need anger-management. "_Heya, Vince!" He'd been staring at me ever since I came down. __But it wasn't like 'oogling' it's just 'oh I'm so depressed I need a place to stare' and I happened to be in the way. __It happened all the time. Ha._

"…"

"_Would you want to come to the party?"_

"…_party?"_

…_wow._

"_Uh… Vince? You need to get your hearing checked. We were talking about it right in front of you…"_

"_I wasn't listening."_

"_Oh, well, there's a traditional/formal/stupid party going on in Wutai soon, and I wanted to know if you wanted come."_

"_What is the purpose of the event?"_

"_So my dad can try to hook me up with some other stupid idiot. But there'd be fun stuff for you guys. Food… dancing… food… dancing…"_

_I started to prepare my puppy-eyes-look…_

"_Fine."_

_I looked blankly at him but quickly recovered and smiled my bestest smile. "Sure thing! It doesn't have to be traditional garb, just so you know. You can wear whatever you want… even that." Cue giggle. "Right then. I have to go call Reno – I'm gonna have to dance with _someone_. Bye!"_

* * *

Wow! Guess what? He wasn't wearing his normal stuff! Awesomeness!

What he was wearing, in fact, was a red silk shirt, both sleeves rolled up above brass-gold-gauntlet-level.

The top two buttons were undone.

I'm not gonna say anything but 'SUPAR-SHMEXAY!' – I – I mean...

Right.

He was also wearing black pants. Normal shoes. Nothing interesting. Oh, he still had that _stupid_ bandanna – but we can't expect him to move on all at once.

With a rustle of silk, I 'alighted' next to him. "Hi."

"Hello."

"Are you enjoying the party?"

"…yes."

"Of course. That's why you're hiding on the balcony."

"…I was just… getting some fresh air." If that didn't sound like someone who was searching for an answer, I'unno what was...

"You were obviously on short supply when you came, 'cause that's all you've been doing!"

Deep sigh like only Vinnie could. "I don't like people."

"I've decided not to take that as a personal insult."

"That's not what I meant. It's just… it's too crowded."

"What next? It's too hot, the people are too happy in there, the people in there breathe too much – come on, Vinnie! Like, come to life. Stop being so stiff and have some fun! Live a little!"

Silence reigned. With a sigh, I turned, ready to go back and hide from my intended partner.

"Fine." A hand had grabbed my arm, stopping me from turning.

I turned back, confused.

"May I have your hand for the next dance?"

Three words got through to me. Those were 'I', 'you', and 'dance'.

I stared at him for a second, and then raised my eyebrows. "Well... if you're sure."

"Quite."

"Okay, then." I smiled.

He led me back to the dance floor as a new song conveniently started. (Don't you love when stuff like that happens?)

It was, to put it simply, a 'slow-spinner' dance, a little waltzy. I didn't know the dance that well, but Vincent guided me through it. I was quite dizzy by the time the last twirl came around. It was an inward spin, bringing the couple close as the music ended, so they could step back and bow/curtsy/whatever.

Except, Vincent never let go.

Super-confused, I looked up at him, just in time to see him leaning forward before he captured my lips in a kiss.

Little electrical jolts/mechanics were sent to my brain to see why it wasn't responding right now. I closed my eyes, enjoying every second, despite the fact that probably the entire dance floor was watching.

He drew back.

I swear he gave me a small smile before releasing me, turning and walking back out to the balcony.

A loud wolf-whistle from Reno brought me back to my senses. Dad would be so ticked...

I grinned. Bring it on, pops.

* * *

Wow. I mean – this one just _popped_ out. I wasn't planning on doing anything of the sort – it just happened.

I don't like Shelke. Randomly.

If you have any mistakes to point out, flames, criticism, tell me.

I like it, though. It was awesome-fun to write. But it's _short!_

**EDIT:** urm. this isn't great. like, at all. xD it's kind of horrible. but hey, shows how much I've improved, I guess.  
-_you guys read this crap? :o-_

**EDIT 5/11: **Gag! Ack! This is terrible. I have to say, they get _so_ much better... Edited and attempted to make it readable. Only time will tell.


	2. Cry Me a River

_Authors Note:_ Hi! Huzzah - I updated! On with the drabble...

**Rating: **T (for some censored cursing)  
**Pairings: **Yuffie x Vincent (Yuffie's point'o'view).  
**Notes:** Done very quickly, two days, so I probably have a lot of mistakes in the writing, and the quality isn't that good. But, oh well! Here goes nothing!  
**Music:** MCR - go figure.  
**Timeline: **After Vinnie's fight with Omega and after the reunion that we all know happened.  
**Drabbletine Summary:** Yuffie's personal struggles with a little demon we all know well - and I'm _not_ talking about Chaos.  
**Disclaimer**: The day I publish this drabble and buy Square Enix will be dubbed National Bash-Shelke Day. Until then, I am a nobody. :'( Oh well. I own naught but the computer and the drabble.

_**Drabbletine **(noun);_ A fluffy(ish) humor-drama-drabble-oneshot about Vincent and Yuffie (and Co.) written by Latte.

_**The Drabbletines **(proper noun); _a collection of drabbles/oneshots (fifteen to be exact) that are all universally centered on Vincent and Yuffie. They may be good writing, or they may just be a bit cliché, but they're still... uh... drabbletines (Stretch of the imagination, that one.). O.o;;

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* * *

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**_cry me a river;;_**

Contrary to popular belief, the famous Vincent "John Vincey Adams Family" Valentine does smile. I mean, _wow_! All I ever expected him to do is mope and snap his fingers twice like the dark M&M's in the Adams Family commercial. But looking over at him now, the firelight reflecting off his gauntlet in little multi-color splashes, he looks… I'm not going to press it. _Content_.

But he's only smiling at her.

He only _everrr_ smiles at her.

She only ever smiles at him. Gag.

_She,_ the brown-haired, blue-eyed, no-good, dirty-rotten - !

Whoa, Yuffie, keep your cool! You are the _Great_ Ninja after all. Great ninjas do not fuss over silly little things like little robots who just sweep in and captivate the man you've been madly in like with for the past three years.

We're all in 7th Heaven Bar. The bar itself is closed, but we're all curled up in blankets and comforters of some sort. Tifa started a fire (in the fireplace, you nut) for like, the first time. She said she needed the light.

She's actually shaking so hard that Cloud, who is clutching her arm, is shaking too. But that could just be him shaking. Barret is sobbing softly into Cloud's arm and Cid is staring with wide eyes. What am I doing? I'm laughing. Throwing back my shoulders and _laughing_.

What could cause such a phenomenon?

Horror. Movie. Marathon.

Oh yeah, baby, you know it.

Did you also know that credit cards are pretty resilient?

Yup, they are extremely resilient. Sadly, the heroine in this particular movie (I honestly am not sure I ever even saw the title, but that could've just been me taking micro-naps between blinks) didn't know that, but the bad guy in this movie is pretty devious, so I doubt that would've helped.

Oh, wait, I'm getting off track, aren't I?

So SHE'S curled up in HIS lap, burying her face in his chest. She just peeked up for a second to smile at him before pulling his cape around her.

Oh, if _only_ everyone else could see what a liar she was. She acts like an angel, but demon's closer.

He's smiling back.

Oh, sometimes I hate them both.

But I always love him.

I always _loved_ him. And I know I'm young, so maybe it's not really _love _love, but it's always reminded me of the way I saw my mom look at my dad. But I was really young back then. Anyway, it's the closest word I have to call it – not like I'm sure it's even love when it's not returned. Not like he knows/fathoms/cares/"would-ever-find-out-in-this-century"s, but when I see her curled up with him, and she's looking up at him as if he's her savior, him looking at her as if she's the angel Lucrecia come back from the dead (which she is, but that doesn't matter) – it makes me sick.

Speaking of sick, I don't know how much longer I want to stay in this room. I swear she'll start kissing him soon – _then_ I might puke.

But, nope. I have to stay here. Because I have to make everyone believe that I'm peachy (which I really _should_ be), and that I don't care if everyone hates me (I'm not saying they do – come on, even _I'm_ not _that_ self-pitying) or if I annoy everyone to death.

I don't know why.

...

Okay, so that's a kind of lie. You see I may lie to everyone else, but in true Awesome Ninja fashion, I must stay true to myself, so... here goes.

I guess I've always figured that I have to be... bouncy. Resilient. Like a credit card, y'know? I need them to keep the little respect they have for me. Which could be none at all. But I mean, think about it: If I started breaking down and being whiny and like a wet noodle everything, what would they think? I'm supposed to be stronger than that – I shouldn't be letting a _guy _get to me, no matter how awesome or freaking _magical_ this guy is – and trust me, he is pretty fricking magical.

They'd think that I'm even more pathetic that they give me credit for. Or maybe they wouldn't, but I can't risk it.

So if I act like I don't care and that I don't get upset by anything they say or do, (well, anything that Barret or Cid do) then I keep that small amount of respect.

Right?

…Maybe not. I don't know.

Anyway, I'm only running on three expressos and a can of Monster, so I'm too tired to actually think.

Anyway, I'm not supposed to think, am I? I'm supposed to be the youngest, stupidest member of the party.

Wow, that didn't harbor any resentment.

And _that_ didn't harbor any lies.

And _that_ didn't harbor any sarcasm.

And _that_ didn't harbor any intelligence.

And _that_ didn't harbor any stupidity.

And _that_ didn't harbor any lies.

And _that_ didn't harbor any truth.

And _that_…

Oh.

I've gone insane.

After that amazing realization…

You know, I think it's a real talent. I have this ability to rant long and hard, and never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever…(Uh… oh, shoot. I'm doing it again.) …ever, ever stop.

Wait, the real brat, Shelke, is saying something to him.

Oh, thanks Ms. Hills Have Eyes II, just scream at exactly the right point so I can't hear anything. Or is it the Hills Have Eyes? I can't remember.

What am I doing watching this stupid movie? Stupid movie list: Up next: When The Zolom Comes Out to Play (I swear, that is the actual title), A Night in Nibelheim, Bloody Midgar, Hallow's Eve, and, oh, what's the last one? I forget the title, so I'll call it "Gore-fest."

I swear I think I was out of my mind to ever leave my warm cocoon of blankets upstairs. I don't remember much. All I remember was Tifa shaking me awake, whispering, "Horror movie marathon," then tiptoeing off to the next poor Avalanche member: Vincent, judging from Tifa's yelp. (I think he might've pulled Cerberus on her.) I remember looking at the alarm clock, which flashed in big, annoyed numbers: 72:98 RPM. (I think I was looking at it wrong.) With a sigh, I had pulled my weary body out of its rest, and made coffee. And that had been the beginning to a _looonnnggg_ night…

So ch'yeah. Back to the present…

Wait, is he actually looking ticked off? Jeez, you little brat, you must be real stupid. I mean, going off and deliberately getting him – well, I have no clue if she went and got him deliberately angry, but he sure doesn't look happy.

Or maybe she did.

Or maybe not.

Or maybe so.

Or – maybe I should stop.

Whoa! Vinnie actually stands up, gives Shelkie-poo a death-glare, and stalks off.

Jeez!

I guess it was a one-night fling. (Oh, that's nasty. Brain erase!)

Where'd he stalk off to? No idea. Barret just flung his arms into the air, 'cause he was so afraid of the movie. Can't see a thing. I think Cid might be trying to punch me, I can't tell. Cloud's screaming like a little girl. (I think it's time to go.)

Should I go and talk to him? I mean, if Shelke is so willingly letting go of him...? Nah, I decide. He might bite my head off. Then I'd be a stick figure with no head, and that's even tentupillyionlyiffically unattractive.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait! You know... common sense just told me to not talk to him. So... what should I do? _Go talk to him,_ duh!

So... so, where is he?

No idea.

I get up and stifle my sniggers at the stupidity of the movie. I'll check upstairs first.

You know, I bet Shelke just told him he stank (not that he really does – that corpse smell wore off ages ago), so he gave her an angry look, and went off to Tifa's room to steal her perfume. So that's where I'll look. 'Cause that's so obviously what happened.

...Alright. Fine. Unlikely?

You'betcha. But have I really got any better plan than just wandering randomly around upstairs? Nope. So there you have it.

Hey! Wait. Lookie.

Vinnie's door is open. And he isn't inside. I think I'll go in.

Insane bordering on suicidal?

You'betcha!

But... aww. This is such a letdown! I thought his room would be full of skeletons and whatnot, but it's just a normal room.

No pictures on the desk, nothing in the closet, a neatly made bed – but whoa! Wait! _A normal room_? Who am I kidding? This is _Vincent_ we're talking about! There has to be something!

I plop down on his bed and look around. There has to be _some_ deep, dark, mysterious... mystery in this room.

_Somewhere_.

And I am so ready to find it!

I go over to the desk, opening the top drawer.

A picture!

SCORE! - ...!

Oh. It's Lucrecia.

!$(*&)$ that !(#)#(.

Who puts a picture in a drawer?

A picture of good memories and good times?

Hey. Whine-alert. That's what _I_ feel like. A picture in a drawer. And there's no one to take me out of the drawer. Nobody to go poking around to find the desk. Nobody who wants to find the room, even.

Big whoop. I mean, gee, this is all nice and figurative, but –

I _hate_ her! Everything's her fault! If she had never existed, sure, Vinnie'd be an old withered corpse, but he could've lived a happi...er... life!

And even in death, she manages to steal his life and love. He will never get over her, never, ever, ever. And in that same train of thought, I know that all I'll ever be is a distraction and a nuisance. He'll never feel for me half of what he felt for her. Not even a ghost of it – and that's if and only if he could ever even see me that way. I mean... he's how many years my senior? Why on _earth_ would he even _bother_ to think of me like that? Then there's the fact that he never ages. Ack.

Who am I kidding? I'll never even be a person to him. Maybe just an annoying bug, ready to be squished.

Or maybe I'm already squished.

Like, on his nose or something, to be doubly annoying.

Gee, I feel great now...

I wish I could get over him. I mean, trust me, I'm not stupid, however much I act it. I'm nothing special. He is. I know it's hopeless, but he's... just so...

Deep sigh. Distustingly mushy alert. Every time I look in his eyes, I feel like I'm protected. Safe. And I know that he's always got my back, and I've always got his. We're the best of duos on the battlefield. We're just power in motion, covering each other's openings and looking out for each other. It's so fluid, so–so _right_, that it just hurts to know that this flame I've got for him, this burning want for him to be _mine_ isn't ever going to be anything more than that – a want.

Alright. Fine. I'm in such a sharing mood – I'll let you in on a really big secret. But you really can't tell anyone else, okay? Tifa doesn't even know this, and I tell her _everything_.

I'm not as... innocent. As naive as everyone thinks I am. And I know that that's what everyone loves about me – my blind innocence, but it isn't there. I've seen a lot of crap. I've done a lot of crap, and people have done a lot of crap to me. I haven't had the sweetest of upbringings. I haven't had the cleanest of getaways, but I'm free now, and that's all that matters – that's all that matters – and maybe I'm not as... untouched as people think I am, but – but –

Oh, great time to start crying!

Buck up, Yuffs!

WAKE UP AND SMELL THE MONSTER ENERGY DRINKS!

Just. STOP. Crying! Come on!

...ugh! Okay, look, I know you're tired, but _not now_. Now is _really _not a good time, so get a hold on yourself!

Ugh. Nice, Mrs. Hojo is dotted with tears now.

Joy.

"Yuffie?" his voice is so quiet I almost don't hear him. Almost. Wouldn't it be so much easier if I hadn't heard him?

But no. I drop the picture, ignore the crack of the glass, and turn.

"Vi – oh my G – I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to – I'm – the door was ope – I just thought..." I slow down, realizing how stupid I was. I'm in his room. The room of the most freaking private person I've ever met and I'm pawing through his _stuff_ and I'm just thinking it's _okay_? What the heck! I choke and stutter. "I j-just thought... it... would... be... okay." I end flatly and turn my face away. I don't need him to know I'm crying. "I'm sorry. I'll go now." I mumble with a vague hope of escaping without further embarrassing myself, I push pass him.

"No, wait." He puts his human hand on my arm, "Why are you crying?" And that killed that hope.

I look up at him, biting back more tears. Why does the question "why are you crying?" or "are you okay?" send me over the edge? I mean, after that, it's a tidal wave. So difficult to swallow the lump that forms in my throat, so difficult to breathe.

But.

Not.

This.

Time.

No! I strictly _forbid_ it! "Oh – I-I'm fine." I stutter, and try to continue my not-so-mad dash to es-scaa-pey.

The gentle touch of his hand becomes an equally gentle grasp. "You're not and you know it." He murmurs, quite matter-of-factly and quite un-Vinnie like.

What to do? I can't exactly say, 'it's you and your stupid girlfriend's fault.'

"I-I'm just going through some problems right now. It's okay, just ignore me." I try to combat the urge to keep crying with an attempt sunny grin, chiding myself at the same time. Why am I telling him this? It's not like I _need_ to embarrass myself _further._

He gives me a concerned look and slowly lets go of my arm.

"I just... Vinnie, could you do me a favor? A small, itty-bitty favor?" I try to beam, and I think I manage it quite well, through the tears and all.

"Yes?"

"Could you remember to live a little?"

A look of surprise flits momentarily across his face, before he resumes his usual cold-fish exterior.

Oh dear, I think, as a rock plunges into the pit of my stomach, sick and roiling. I told him way too much. He's too perceptive – he's guessing everything right now – I just know it! How I feel about him, how I feel about the brat, how I feel about Lucrecia... laying it all bare. I better get out of here, and _quickly_, or I might make more of a fool of myself. Which I already have, but I can stop me making a bigger fool of myself.

"Uh, well... bye." I say, my voice even more unsure than myself. With all the appearance of walking (while running), I leave.

Oh God. Kill me before I end up inadvertently killing myself with antics like that.

I make my way back to my room, open the door, embrace the messiness, and fall back onto my bed. All this, and I forgot to ask him why he was angry. I meant to go and be sort of a therapist, and he's the one who ends up asking me 'what's wrong?'. Gee, reversal of roles? Flipping of the tables? I should really stop.

So, completely embarrassing myself in front of Vincent... that's just perfect. And I want to know why he was angry, and if he and Shelke broke up, and if they were ever really together.

Then there are the other questions I want to ask: Why are you still hooked-up on a dead chick? Why don't you ditch the cape and act like the twenty-odd-year-old you look like? Why don't you get a haircut and pretend you're eighteen? Why don't you try to be funny? Why don't you just _move on_? Why don't you listen to The All-American Rejects' "Move Along"? Why don't you listen to_ any _music? Why are you so old-fashioned? Why do you call yourself dead? Why don't you party with your demons?...

...Why can't I just forget you and find a boyfriend? Why am I still hooked-up on you?

Hah – the ones that never will be answered. Maybe they shouldn't even be answered.

I hear Tifa screaming my name from downstairs; I should probably go and comfort her in her terror.

Buuuut... I'd have to pass Vincent's door. In fact, I'll have to pass his door if I ever want to see the sun again. (My room doesn't have a window. How sick is that?)

Tifa screams for me again, in an annoyed sort of way.

I sigh. Buck up, cowardess. And so I stand and tentatively push my door open.

He won't notice me... right?

Quietly, that's the ticket. Okay, slow down before his door and act like you're just strolling along... don't look in his door – I SAID DON'T LOOK! OHMIWORD! AHH! RED ALERT! OKAY – JUST RUN PAST!

For that second, when our eyes had met... _no no, _too scary! He probably thinks I'm peeking in or something!

But... he had looked so sad, when I saw him. Like, I dunno, he was being all emotional, like I am now. Maybe he was angry. He probably was, probably 'cause I broke precious Lucrecia's precious face. (Oh, how I have always wanted to do that.) I wanna go and pat him on the back, but I don't think I have the nerve, so I'll go pat Tifa on the back.

...

* * *

...

Okay, it's tomorrow. Tomorrow night. Well, it's actually today, because tomorrow never comes. But then, why do people say they'll do things tomorrow? Now I'm confused. If tomorrow never comes, then what if next week and everything else never come, then that means that next year will never come, meaning there is no future, meaning life goes on forever, and that I'm going to be twenty-one today, because there is no future, meaning I can drink.

"Hey, Tifa!" I call and make the bartender raise her head sleepily. "Can you whip me up a margarita?"

"You're under-aaaaaa..." here she pauses for a yawn, "-ge..."

I explain my theory to her.

"Hah... no."

"Gee, everybody's a critic. And if you're _sooo_ tired, go to bed. It's only six o'clock."

"B...barr..." she murmurs, half falling asleep on said object.

"That's what you get for having a horror movie marathon – that _was_ **your** idea, in fact. And I'll take care of the bar."

Huh, for being so tired, it's amazing how fast she can move when I say I'll do the bar.

This can't be too hard. I see Tifa do it tons of times. Even with the drunk/snooty customers, I can do fine. And it means I can have as many drinks as I want. Tifa is _soo_ illogical when she's dead tired.

But oh! Speak of the devil, a customer.

Jeez, and five minutes later, he's plastered.

How 'bout that?

What Tifa hates about this job is how they hit on you so much. Me, being the ugly stick figure I am, should have no problems with this, so I'm much more suited to this job. Except they don't want to buy alcohol from some stick figure.

Oh well. Tough luck. Deal with it. Pfffbbt, pfft, pbbbt.

I don't make these noises to customers, by the way.

It's a really uneventful shift, and at midnight on the dot, I skip over to the open/closed (open, closed, open, closed...) sign, and flip it to the ever-so-lovable _closed_. That done, I turn and tiptoe up the stairs, intent on not waking Tifa up. So it's quite difficult when someone grabs my arm. (Not particularly violently, but enough to terrifying the living crap out of me.)

I nearly scream.

"_Aiee_!"

Okay, more than nearly...

Someone puts a hand over my mouth and turns me around.

Shoot. Crap. Whoops and any other 'oops' word you can think of.

I pry Vinnie's hand off my mouth. "Oh, Vincent." I say calmly, "Hi."

He looks mildly amused. "Hello. Yuffie, I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time."

_Vincent, you can have the whole lot of it. _"Sure. What's'sup?"

"I just wanted to follow your advice." He replies calmly.

I give him a confused look. Me? Give advice? _Nah, I ain't that smart, _my look says. Just as I'm about to ask him, he leans forward and kisses me.

Oh no, not just a kiss.

But a _**kiss**_.

Defined as _tingly-in-your-toes, butterflies-in-your-stomach, goose-bump giving hair-raising, electricity-licious, don't-wanna-stop, stars-in-your-eyes, I-really-mean-it – _the list could go on forever.

Whoah! Back up through the definitions...

"_But a _**kiss**."

Wanna repeat that last part?

"_...a _**kiss**_."_

One more time?

"**kiss**_."_

Whoah...?

He pulls back and looks pleased with his handiwork. (what? A completely shocked and nonplussed me?)

Play it cool, I tell my mind. "Vincent, what was that for?" I ask in a completely shocked and nonplussed way.

"I'm just following your advice." Replies Vincey _cheerfully_, as he walks back into his room and shuts the door behind him.

But the icing on the cake is the look on Shelke's face as she walks in on the last few seconds of our kiss. Her face is tear-streaked and her eyes are blotchy, like she was crying before she came out.

Dear, _darling_ Shelke, I think you have a few more tears to cry.

...

* * *

...

_el fin_

Not that good, but I like the last line.

Any errors, please inform me. The verb tense was hard to write, so it's all choppy. -shrug- Please inform me of any un-matching verb-forms.

Don't feel sorry for Shelke, we all hate her anyway. **Neener-neener-neeener.**

I just noticed. This is an interior monologue-ish, actually. I had to write one for English Class and it sucked. I could'a just used this.

_ciao_

**EDIT: **_May 18th, 2011. _Re-haul. Tried to make it better. My apologies.


	3. Somber Resplendence

_Authors Note:_ In honor of my 2000th hit, I give you this drabble.

**Rating: **K+ (to be safe)  
**Pairings: **Yuffie x Vincent (third person/Vincent's point'o'view).  
**Notes:** Done very quickly: two days!  
**Music:** Umm... the title was inspired by A.F.I's "Silver and Cold".  
**Timeline:** Nineteen years after DOC (Bwuahahaha! Didn't see _that_ coming, did you?).  
**Drabbletine Summary:** Vincent's reminisces of a better time.  
**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Nada. The title isn't even mine! It's AFI's song! -sniff- Well, I do own my three little characters, but...

_**Drabbletine **(noun);_ A fluffy(ish) humor-drama-drabble-oneshot about Vincent and Yuffie written by Latte.

_**The Drabbletines **(proper noun); _a collection of drabbles/oneshots (fifteen to be exact) that are all universally centered on Vincent and Yuffie. They may be good writing (huh, not likely) or they may be bad writing, (Heh, very likely.) but they're still... uh... drabbletines (Stretch of the imagination, that one.). O.o;;

...

* * *

...

**_somber resplendence;;_**

The sun sank in a bloodied haze, casting a lazy glow over the small town of Nibelheim. The massive clouds were imbrued with crimson. Long tendrils of pristine fleece unfurled from the Mother Cloud, drifting into the yonder, framed by the majesty of the sunset. Autumn's colorful grip was a firm one, painting trees with a free-spirited hand. They stood fast under the dying light, usual greenery tinted blood-red and golden, hues that had little to do with the sun. One could almost feel the trees spread out their leaves, enjoying the warmth that the usually weak fall sun cast upon them. The resplendence of the trees matched but a little of the splendor of the sun.

Two men and a boy sat on the wide crest of a rollicking hill and surveyed the magnificence, huddled close to one another. The remains of a hastily eaten meal lay in a basket.

One of the men was dark-haired and lean, dressed in a loose, simple shirt and black pants. He had serious, unfathomable eyes of fiery crimson hues, and impeccable features. A bundle of giggling blankets was held fast in his arms. A pink fleshy arm extended out of the mass of blankets, catching one of his shoulder-length ebon locks, holding it tight in its fat little fist. The bundle gave a cry at its intelligence, its eyes two brown stones of joy. The man seemed to be pulled out of a deep reverie, noticing the child. With the utmost gentleness, the man rescued his hair from the grip of doom.

The other man was much younger – of adolescent age – sad-eyed, and shorter. Thin-sleeved arms were wrapped around himself in a sort of ward against the cooling temperatures. His unruly black locks tumbled over storm-grey eyes, tickling the prudent nose. He brushed the offending hair away with the back of his hand and wasn't surprised to see tears glistening on it. He scrubbed at his eyes and with a sniff managed to control himself.

The boy had fairer hair, a serious face ill-suited to his youth and tragic blue eyes. He was tall for his young age of eight, just as his face was too old for his age. He looked nothing like his father but for the shape of his eyes. The youth looked up at his father a second before the baby reclaimed the man's hair. Swallowing the lump threatening to form in his throat, he tugged on his father's sleeve. "Dad?"

"Taylor." The man had long since given up trying to teach the baby manners and was quietly accepting his hair-pulling fate.

"I miss her." The child's eyes were wide, searching for comfort in his father's eyes.

His father looked down at him. The man's lips momentarily quirked in a small smile. "So do I."

The teen joined the conversation, adding his baritone to the tenor of his brother and the bass of his father. "Me too. It's been a whole year, but I feel like it's only been a couple days."

The man observed him quietly for a second. He eventually directed his gaze elsewhere, choosing to settle on the sunset. "I know. I feel the same way."

"Dad… why did she have to go?" the tragic-eyed child asked him.

With a sigh, he put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know."

...

* * *

...

_The light glared off the lake and the melting snow, half-blinding the Shinobi. Her hand rested on her hip, perched by her slim waist. Her other hand was raised to storm-grey eyes, the better to see the landscape. Turning with her characteristic energy, she smiled at me._

"_Hey Vince!" she called, waving her hand as if I couldn't see her twenty feet away. "Isn't the view beautiful?"_

_I made a noncommittal noise, giving my head a little jerk. That would keep her satisfied for the moment._

...

* * *

...

_The darkness passed through me as if I was part of it. It only took a second, but I already knew what was going to happen before it did. She didn't make a sound; she just vanished along with the darkness. I heard Nero's little hysterical laugh, but didn't pay any attention to it._

_The next second, Chaos had taken control. He reached out, like a blind man feeling his way. I closed my own eyes, saw through his, and understood his search. A sort of seam has appeared where the darkness had disappeared. Using my gauntlet, Chaos tore the seam open and handed control back to me at his leisure. Wasting no time, I dove in – and not a moment too late._

_The light from the outside world seemed to have pierced the world of darkness. I sensed the ninja opening her eyes. I didn't know what would happen, but I was acting on instinct. I gathered Yuffie in my arms and jumped._

_We landed and I set Yuffie on the ground._

...

* * *

...

_I heard the ninja's tiptoed footsteps down the hall. As quiet as she could be, I doubt there was a noise she could make that I wouldn't hear. I felt a bit of apprehension in the pit of my stomach, but I ignored it. She had told me "live a little" and that's what I was going to do._

_I heard her continue past my door. I silently pulled my door open and stepped out behind her. I reached out with my human hand and lightly grabbed her arm._

_She jumped and screamed. This being unexpected (though it shouldn't have) I clapped my hand over her mouth and turned her around. She blinked at me for a second, before prying my hand off her mouth. "Oh, Vincent." She said calmly, "Hi."_

_Amused, I addressed her, "__Hello. Yuffie, I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time."_

_She grinned. "Sure. What's'sup?"_

"_I just wanted to follow your advice." I replied calmly._

_She responded with a confused expression. I could tell she was about to question me, so I lean forward, drew her close, and cut off any response with a kiss._

...

* * *

...

"_Vincent…"_

"_Yes, Yuffie?"_

"_Why do you always respond like that?"_

"_Because it is a habit."_

"_You sound so archaic when you do it, though!"_

"_Do you even know what that means?"_

"_Um… stuffy?"_

_I laughed and kissed the top of her head. She gave a giggle and wormed deeper into the blanket cocoon. A fire was blazing in the grate, helping the blanket dispel the cold seeping through the cracks in the dilapidated mansion._

_She sighed and wrapped her arms around my arm, resting her chin on my shoulder. "We're so gonna fix this mansion up, and it'll be the sexiest mansion in the world. And people will drool when they walk past, and they'll love it."_

"_The sexiest mansion?" I asked, casting the amusement out of my voice._

"_Like… duh. That's what I said, right?"_

"_Yes." I murmured, kissing the top of her head again. "That's what you said."_

_She leaned up and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. "I'm tired. I'm going to head upstairs. Don't stay up too long."_

"_I won't." I promised. "Good night."_

_Making a sort of affirmative noise, she slid out of the blanket, skittered across the freezing hardwood, and took the stairs two at a time._

...

* * *

...

"_Marriage. Marriage is what brings us together today…" I barely heard the decrepit old man's words. It had nothing to do with my hearing; my hearing was as sharp as ever. It was sharp enough to hear my heart pounding in my ears like a drum. I could only look at her eyes; I could only see the excitement there – no worry, no nervousness, just determined excitement._

_I had already decided: this was going to be the happiest day of my life – even if it killed me to make it so._

...

* * *

...

The nurse poked her head in. "Mr. Valentine? Could you follow me, please?" I stood obediently and followed the woman.

_When I entered the room, my eyes fell on Yuffie, lying on the hospital bed. Her hair was damp with sweat, but her face was shining. In her arms, wrapped in blankets, was a baby. Hearing the door open, she looked up and gave me and exhausted grin._

"_It's a boy."_

_I win._

...

* * *

...

"_Did Dad really bet that I was going to be a boy?" Ten-year-old Nathanial questioned his mother with youthful excitement._

"_Yes he did!" Yuffie cried, pointing at me with an accusatory finger._

"_Oh no." I replied, "Your mother was the one who suggested it."_

"_I did not!" Yuffie gasped in mock indignation. "Vincent Valentine, I have half a mind to spank you and make you a spectacle for your children so they will know not to lie!"_

_Three-year-old Taylor interrupted then, deciding he did _not_ like his mashed potatoes and sent them plummeting to the floor where they landed in a sorry heap._

"_Oh dear." Yuffie murmured, hurrying over and wiping remaining mashed potatoes off Taylor's chin. Her voice raised a decibel or two. "Taylor! You do _not_ make messes for Mommy to clean up, because then she get's backaches and then Daddy has to take care of you for a day, and you remember what happened last time, right?"_

_Taylor's bright blue eyes widened. "Sorwy Mommy."_

"_Cool!" Nathanial cried, "I'm going to go tell Jonathan. My parents bet on me when I born…" _

...

* * *

...

_The waiting room was becoming a familiar place. The same nurse, her face blemished with a few wrinkles, opened the door. "Mr. Valentine?"_

_I looked up at her. The second I saw her face, my heart leapt into my throat._

_"I'm afraid I have some terrible news. Your wife, sir, she... didn't survive the childbirth." Her eyes stared sorrowfully at me, pitying and regretful._

_Reeling, I gripped the arms of my chair, the only sure and solid thing in my life now. "Dead?" My voice broke as grief clawed at in my throat._

_"I am sorry." Walking over, she placed a comforting hand on my shoulder._

_"What of..." I could scarcely bring myself to breathe the words, so great was the terror within me._

_For the first time, a small smile crossed her face. "A girl. She is alive and well."_

...

* * *

...

___ "…Yuffie Valentine was a brave woman. She saved the planet more times than we could count, and her courage and kindness will be eternally remembered. In times when light was consumed by darkness, she was always shining. If we remember what she has done for us, then her spirit shall live eternally."_

_I felt Taylor, who was standing next to me, push his hand into mine. His eyes found mine and I saw fear, sorrow and resolution mingled there._

_Nathanial had distanced himself, head down. He was rocking back and forth, hugging himself. Skye shifted her position in my arms, head resting on my shoulder._

_Tifa and Cloud stood on my other side. I could pick out the rest of Avalanche in the rest of the gathering. The rest of the congregation was Wutaian. Yuffie had told me that if she died, she wanted to be buried in her country. _

...

* * *

...

The man closed his eyes, focusing on the dying warmth on his face as Autumn claimed the landscape. He could feel her warmth in his mind. The dying heat from the sun became her arms wrapped lovingly around him. _It's been one year, Yuffie. And I'm doing what you wanted. I'm living my life._ He glanced down at Skye in his arms, his one-year-old little girl. The little girl looked more like her mother than she would ever know.

She was his little Yuffie.

...

* * *

...

___el fin  
_

Yup. This Drabbletine is in honor of my 2000th hit, and it was ABSOLUTELY not planned at all. xD It just popped out.

If you notice any mistakes, please tell me.

Did you notice the little insert from a previous drabble? Whoever can find it (not difficult xD) gets the next chapter dedicated to them. Not much of a prize, but it's not much of a challenge, so it fit.

I'm not going to bother telling you guys to review. x3 I realized that I never really read the part when the author says, "read and review, please!" So what will make you guys read it? Haha! Found the break in the circut. Oh well, I'll stop my insanity.

thankies  
-skia

**EDIT:** _5.18.11: Wow. Guys. Come on. This isn't really bad. Just 'cause it's short and sad and kind of cliched, I reeeally like the actual writing. I'm kind of proud of myself. Am I crazy?_


	4. Halitosis

_Authors Note: _Greetings, fantubers!

Ahem.

_Dedicated to my good friend Adam T. Siska!_

**Rating: **T (to be safe—you know me and my dirty, dirty mind)  
**Pairings: **Yuffie x Vincent  
**Notes:** I KNOW this is not his history in the least bit. This is just Yuffie's warped vision of it; no one ever tells her anything.  
**Music:** Nada.  
**Timeline:** Eight months after DOC.  
**Drabbletine Summary: "**That Starbucks Mocha Frap Was _Such_ a Bad Idea." The narrative of an habitual insomniac.  
**Disclaimer**: I'm boycotting disclaimers. (As my lawyers step in) "Ahem. She owns nothing."

_**Drabbletine **__(noun);_ a fluffy(ish) humor-drama-drabble-oneshot about Vincent and Yuffie (and Co.) written by Latte.

_**The Drabbletines **__(proper noun); _a collection of drabbles/oneshots (fifteen to be exact) that are all universally centered on Vincent and Yuffie. They may be good writing (Huh, not likely) or they may be bad writing, (Heh, very likely.) but they're still... uh... drabbletines (Stretch of the imagination, that one.).

...

* * *

...

_And on with the drabble inside!  
What a wonderful  
Caricature of  
Good writing!  
- ?_

...

* * *

...

**halitosis;**  
hal·i·to·sis  
pronounced **/ˌhæl ɪˈtoʊ sɪs/**  
Pronunciation Key (**hal-i-toh-sis**)  
_**–noun**_  
_a condition of having offensive-smelling breath; bad breath._

...

* * *

...

So you've come to hear my tale, have you? Well then…

I would like to start this out by assuring you that all of this mess was caused by insomnia.

I don't normally have insomnia, I just happened to have it for three weeks straight...

...Okay, maybe three or four months straight. But none of Avalanche knew about it. Just because I didn't sleep, didn't mean I banged around all night—gotcha?

Good. That being sorted out...

On the night... morning—uh, dawn of this disaster, I, Yuffie Kisaragi, the Great Ninja—but of course you know me—couldn't sleep.

Okay, so that's a little anti-climatic, I mean, I know you're expecting some valiant fight or something, but this story isn't about bravery.

It really isn't about me at all.

It's about a big, over-sized bat with a droopy cape, and a sad face. This bat is very, very... wise. And he's very intelligent and enigmatic.

This bat's name is Vinnie. (Victor, if I'm in a real temper.)

This bat also happens to leave the house a lot. He doesn't go into Edge and have a good ol' time. Nope, this bat just flies off to a big magical cave in the middle of some godforsaken mountains, and mopes.

Not a very happy bat, is he?

But maybe I should start at the beginning of the bat...

A long, long, long, long... uh, _extensive_ time ago, there was a teen, er... adolescent bat called Vincent. This bat was a happy, I mean... contented bat, and his family was a contented family... of bats, of course.

Then one day, the evil, or... odious and corrupted company... posse of vampire bats snatched him up, and murdered his family! This posse was called Shinra.

When they informed Vincent that he was supposed to work for the posse, he didn't want to. Sadly, he had nowhere else to go, so the dejected bat agreed.

Inside the posse, there was a mini, uh... miniature posse. The bats in this posse were known as the Turks.

It's believed they were called Turks after Turkeys, because those bats, deep down, wanted to be birds, not mammals, so they got as close to it as they could.

...But this is only a theory after all.

Heh... yeah. Moving on:

There were a lot of nasty... err, malicious bats in the Turks, and none of them liked the fact that the posse had swept a new bat into their midst—a bat that seemed to be doing better than all of them combined!

After many failed attempts on his life, none of them executed with any finesse, the bats finally gave up, and accepted Vincent into their midst.

So Vincent climbed up the ladder of power.

But then, he was assigned to his downfall.

Her name was Lucrecia Crescent, and she was a beautiful bat.

She was, also, a stuck-up, skinny !)^*$(#, but nobody really seemed to notice this.

Um… right. So this beautiful she-bat and our hero Vinnie became friends.

Yeah, right. Friends. She probably had a _bunch_ more on her mind than "just friends" but really, what does that matter now? All that matters is that the whole thing ended in _disaster_, and our hero became the hero of a game called operation. (A very fun game where the operee's nose lights up red if you—um… right. Not that type.)

A horrible, old, corrupted, malicious, evil, odious, stinky, hideous, ugly old bat called Hojo did some horrible, old, corrupted, malicious, evil, odious, stinky, hideous, ugly old things to our great, awesome, amazing, superb, terrific, cool, resplendent (oh, pretty word) hero. Who then in all his greatness, awesomeness, amazingness, superbness, terrificness, coolness, and resplendence went away to a big termite tavern and had a great, awesome, amazing, superb, terrific, cool, resplendent beauty sleep.

Just like Vinnie was doing on that fateful night. That oh-so-very fateful night.

On "that fateful night" I was having an unusually bad bout of insomnia, but, knowing that there was a drinking party downstairs last night (don't ask me – Tifa must have been drunk to even suggest it) that I wasn't invited to because I'm underage, (but only until I release my amazing plan that warps my age to twenty-one) I decided to go check out the wreckage.

Wreckage it was. Silently slipping down sickeningly slippery slopes of steep stairs, I came upon what was once a great battle, a battle of kings that would be recorded in history for years to come. It was a great battle of… who could stay sober the longest. Cid won, I think. Well, his arm was half-raised in a sort of victory-raise, propped up by his head, and Cloud was lying on the ground looking half-dead. Tifa was at the bar, sleeping peacefully, with her head resting against the cold metal surface.

The Big Chocolate Marshmallow-Man was sprawled on the ground, and Reeve was sprawled on the ground next to him. I almost wanted to sprawl out next to them just so I could say there were sprawls all around.

Haha.

Haha…

Ha…

Ha…

Right. Moving on.

All in all, it was a rather forlorn scene, and if I hadn't known any better, I would have said it was the remains of a battle scene.

But, sigh, this wasn't helping me go to sleep… at all. An estrogen rush was in order (they tire me out like you wouldn't believe). Resigning myself to romance novels, chocolate and horrible chick flicks played on my tiny TV upstairs, I cast one more look around.

That's when I spotted him: Vinnie. Leaned back on a chair, feet occupying another chair, he was sleeping the uberest peacefull-i-est of them all and looked quite soundly sleepy.

Heh… yeah. Ignore my strange talk, I come from distant lands.

Okay, that might have been more believable if I had said it in some alien language. I'll remember that for next time, because you know very well there will be a next time.

And people will ask me, "Are you an alien?" And I'll be like, "No! I'm an extremely powerful ninja named Yuffie!"

I just like to do that once in a while.

Anyway, I doubted Vince was drinking, so I just supposed he had been dragged downstairs just because he wasn't underage.

Pffbbt. Lucky duck.

Or should I say, lucky bat?

Anyway, I tiptoed over to him and stifled a little giggle. He had the most adorable little half-quirk smile on his face. I smiled. He half-quirk smiled back at me.

Sadly, it wasn't quite _at_ me, but it was close enough.

I'm sure he was dreaming of sexy ninjas like me. Haha! I _know_ he was dreaming of awesomely sexy ninjas like me. I could see it in his face. His closed eyelids basically screamed, "Sexy ninjas! _Sexy ninjas_! SEXY NINJAS!"

Dude, no kidding. I could literally see it on his face.

Alright, so not _literally_, but you get my point.

He looked so peaceful. I kept on smiling at him and it was like a switch got stuck (like it usually does) and the smile was permanently affixed with super-glue to my face. Like _grossness_. Maybe this wasn't such a great thing.

I started making odd faces in the hope of wiping the smile off my face.

Vinnie smiled his dreamy little half-quirk smile back at me again.

Those lips were so beautiful. No, I know it sounds weird, but they are. They're like… almost pinky, and really… um…

Perfect?

Yup. Perfect.

And it was kind of sad, because even though I'm a hot and sexy ninja, Vinnie only goes for hot and sexy bats. And I had been harboring a silly-little-girl crush on him for a while. But yeah…

Anyway, I thought those lips were such a waste. They barely move. He doesn't talk enough. Vinnie should talk more. Vinnie's so stupid. But I still loved him for his stupidness. It's such awesome stupidness. Better than my stupidness.

My stupidness is a silly stupidness, while his is just an innocent stupidness.

Almost. I'm not so naïve as to call Vincent innocent, but his _stupidness_ is more innocent than mine.

Haha! Gotcha there!

See? And you thought I was naïve. That's not very nice, you know. Anyway, I'm willing to forgive you of this tiny transgression and continue with my story. But I'll give you a finger waggle so you remember not to do it again.

Waggle, waggle.

Waggle—isn't that such a funny word? Waggle… I wonder where the heck that word came from. It's not from the sound it makes—it doesn't even make any noise. Obviously. But, come on, when you see a cat with his butt on vibrate before he jumps onto the counter, "waggle" just comes to mind.

"Isn't that right, Vinnie?" I whispered. I was almost tempted to push some of his hair behind his ears, but I beat the urge down with a rolled up newspaper.

I stopped myself from tapping a finger on his nose also, now hitting the urge over the head with a baseball bat. It wouldn't do to wake him up.

Wake him up… wake… him… up… It occurred to me that this was a _wonderful_ prank-opportunity. I mean, he was begging for it. He was just sitting there and screaming, "Do it to me!"

Um, not like I could imagine anything _that _kinky coming out of his mouth, but… Well, I can _imagine_ it, but I can't imagine him saying it in real life. Or, uh… do you get my point? Please say yes.

So, there I was, with a wonderful prank opportunity. What to do though? Should I do the ol' shaving cream and feather trick? Or the ol' makeover? (i.e. put makeup on them so they look perfectly hideous and not too far from a drag queen)

Vinnie would probably have killed me if I tried the last one, and he probably doesn't have enough sensory cells to feel the feather and the shaving cream trick. That left me with… what?

The world screeched to a halt. The solitary fly buzzing next to my ear stopped flying and fell ungracefully to the tiles. Everyone. Stopped. Breathing.

Everyone stopped moving.

This was _horrible_!

_The Great Yuffie Kisaragi not being able to come up with a prank? The Single White Rose of Wutai _failing_ at such a small task?_

Inconceivable.

In a fit of habitual hysteria, I grabbed my hair, just where it came to tickle my ear lobe, and tugged. Tugged too hard.

Wuh-_**hay**_ too hard.

In my defense, all I let out was a squeak, rather than the long, drawn-out, bloody-murder scream I wanted to release. I had shoved that scream back down my throat, filed it under the "if there's a creepy guy trying to rape you" category and had opted for the strangled squeak.

But it was enough.

No, it was too much.

Vinnie… stirred…

In a moment of blind, panicked terror, I dove. Y'know... under his chair. Which was not a smart idea.

Ha! Did you know the word "dove" also means, "a white bird that goes cooo-coo-cooo"? Bet'cha didn't know that. Isn't that cool? It also is the past tense of "dive" or some other tense like that or something but it really means to jump into a pool! Isn't _that_ cool? But yeah. There was no pool. Just… clearing that up.

Ahem. Looking back, I'll admit it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but… I was terrified that he might wake up.

Considering my luck, I was positive my foot would catch under his chair and knock him off or something, but Leviathan was apparently smiling at my antics that night, and I managed to find a comfortable enough crouching position.

Not breathing, I listened to Vinnie shifting his position above me.

Noooo, I couldn't breathe, not because there was a metal bar jammed into my diaphragm or I was terrified of waking the angel slumbering above me (that sounds so wrong)—I was just suffocating myself practicing for the deep diving Olympics.

Of _course_ it was because I didn't want to wake Vinnie up. Jeez. _Me_? In the _Olympics_? What's _wrong_ with you?

Anyway. Vincent's movements ceased, his desired position apparently reached. As cautious as a mouse sneaking past a cat, I crept out from my hiding place.

Losing the whole "gotta be quiet or the world will blow up" act, I stood to my full height, characteristic pout on my lips and hands in their usual place on my hips.

_What should I do?_ I mused, cocking my head and silently tapping my foot. No prank came to mind or, for that matter, anything else.

I took a hesitant step forward, glanced warily at his eyes, checking for movement or opening or other things of the awakened nature, and leaned over him. I looked at him, eye to eye, nose to nose, recalling the only other time I had been this close to him.

It's probably not what you'd expect.

It was just after Shelke had left in her fit of rage. I couldn't help hating her—we hadn't gotten along in the last few months she had stuck around. I'm not proud of the way I acted to her, and it was hinted by more than one person that I might have been the leading factor that led up to her departure.

A few seconds had passed as we all processed what had just happened and who had just left. Regaining speech, I had said something that wasn't too far from how I felt, "Good riddance," or something to that effect. Vincent was enraged. I had actually thought he might kill me or something.

But instead of letting that fear show or something, I had opted to scream all the things that was wrong with her, him, and her and him. Every bit of hurt I felt when he had chosen her company over mine; the repeated blow again and again—every particle of anger that coursed through my body every time I saw that look on her face—that almost smug, almost pitying expression—had seemed to find a pressure release through my words.

The hurt, the anger, the venom laced into those words…

I don't even want to think about how much that broke Vincent's trust.

The way he responded surprised us all. He responded in like.

It was the biggest inter-member Avalanche-ian fight that I can remember.

But, looking back a little bit ago, I finally got it. I had deserved every hostile word that escaped his lips.

Months, weeks upon weeks, of repairs and maintenance went into our shattered friendship. Time, energy, and pride were sacrificed to mend what never should have been broken.

So, yeah—nose to nose, screaming our guts out at each other—it was the only other time I could think of being so close.

I leaned closer, counting the… freckles? Nah. What were they?

I couldn't help but grin. "Freckles" was the only word that sprang to mind.

As I was in silent hysterics over his gorgeous little things-that-I-couldn't-name-and-so-named-freckles, I leaned forward just a tiny bit more, and the world broke.

No. Friggin'. Kidding.

The world like, exploded.

And like, the worst thing ever happened.

You know how the outside of his irises are a nice crimson? And how they have that inner ring of fire right around the pupil? Well, he has these almost chasms in his irises, with little filaments of a brighter red weaving in and out of the chasms. It's awesome.

Oh, did I mention those eyes were open? Yeah.

That might've been my nose bumping into his.

My eyes widened as the silence spanned.

He looked like he didn't really believe those gorgeous chasm-ful eyes. "Y-Yuffie?" his voice was but the barest whisper, but I heard him as if he had screamed. "What are you doing?"

My tongue seemed to swell and block any words that might have tried to escape. (Grossness)

I must have looked insane to him, first looking like a scared, terrified rabbit, then changing pace at a nanosecond, letting one of my usual grins spread across my face.

"Checking for halitosis!" I chirruped, before making my mostly silent escape up the stairs.

_Ahem_. The moral of the story?

Never bet on Vinnie having halitosis.

I need a super-cool way of saying "the end" so I'll give you a bit of my alien language!

_Ashiyak onotombo_!

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If you can guess the amazing song I totally ripped off and stole in the pretty odd lyrics in the beginning, you get brownie, muffin, and cake points.

Yeah. And the beginning of the author note also has a verrrrry subtle hint of something else. If you understand it, please, talk to me, or I might go insane with the absence of fellow fans.

Anyway, I don't have to tell you to read and review and stuff, 'cause you already read, and I _know_ you're going to review. -halo'd-

If you notice any formatting/spelling/grammar problems, please tell me. I totally sleep-wrote this. (Haha. Get it? Winky wink! :D)

_ahem. in the words of my good narrator:  
ashiyak onotombo!_

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Thanks for being fantuberous!

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We now return you to your regularly scheduled fanfiction already in progress.  
We return you to your fanfiction already in progress.  
Thank you.


	5. Just Desserts

_Author's Note: _Heya, fantubers!

**Rating: **K+  
**Pairings: **Yuffie x Vincent  
**Notes:** I've had this in my head for ages. It finally came out. It's my longest one ever.  
**Music:** Nope. None. Nada.  
**Timeline: **Two months after 'Halitosis' (you may want to re-read that one if you don't remember what happened).  
**Drabbletine Summary:** Vincent Gets His Just Desserts: a display of masochism, coming to theaters everywhere June 31st.  
**Disclaimer**: DISCLAIMERS SUCK!

_**Drabbletine **(noun);_ A drabble-oneshot about Vincent and Yuffie (and Co.) written by Latte.

_**The Drabbletines **(proper noun); _a collection of drabbles/oneshots (fifteen to be exact) that are all universally centered on Vincent and Yuffie (and Co.). They may be good writing, or they may be fluff, but they're still... uh... drabbletines (stretch of the imagination, that one.).

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* * *

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**_just desserts;_**

I glanced up, and I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that my eyes were probably sparkling more than the necklace in my hands. I couldn't keep the shocked grin from taking over my face and making me look more juvenile than I already did. "Wow." I saw Reeve grin in response. "Wow. I mean… dude."

"Do you like it?"

"Nah. Well, yeah, but you know." I glanced conspiratorially at him, pretending, at least for a second, that the rest of Avalanche wasn't sitting around us. "It'll look better once I've-" here I did two tacky air-quotes, "'broken it in'_,_ y'know?"

Reeve laughed lightly. "Now, Yuffie," he said in that voice that I absolutely loved—that deep, but somehow still young tone—"This cost _gil_, do you understand? _Gil._" He drew the word out for my retardedness, playing along. Within a second, however, he grew serious again, "No, really. Do you like it?"

"_Well, duh!_ Gosh, Mr. Retard. It's gorgeous—and best thing about it-"

"It's sparkly?" Piped Marlene.

"Nah—it'll keep my dad off my back for all those really special social gatherings I go to." The sarcasm literally (litr'elly, like the way the Brits say it—y'know?) dripped off my words. I doubted one respectable piece of jewelry, however elegant (and this little baby packed elegance in one huge punch) could keep him off my back. "Really. It's great though." I managed seriousness in tone and features for two seconds before my face took control back and broke into a grin. "Thanks!" I laid it on the ground and danced over to the couch to glomp him. Which I did. I'm sure he loved it—just like Cloud and Nanaki before him.

"Here wait—let me put it on."

I let him. Oooh, girlish giggle. Hey! Don't look at me like that, Reeve's smokin'—and not the weed or cigarette type.

"Now! Who next?"

Silence. I frowned, but it was all in play really—everyone knew I'd be the one to pick the next present, and not the other way around. "Well, fine!" I harrumphed. With sass, I continued, "I'll just pick it myself." A la mode.

It's funny. I used to think "a la mode" meant, "with ice cream (or whipped cream)" but it doesn't. I'm pretty sure it means something like, "In the mode," or "with style" or something. Anyway.

I digress. French people scare me, especially after seeing Monty Python and the Holy Grail. And Rosso. She was creepy—and she was all French-like. No offense to you Frenchies, but just stay aways, 'kays?

"Alrighty…" I stood and glanced around the circle of trust. Cloud, Nanaki, Reeve, Vincent, Tifa, Marshmallow—they were all there. It gave me a slightly warm, fizzy feeling inside (like sparkling apple cider) that they'd all come for my little get-together (dangit, it's my party, not a get-together). Nice'ta have friends, eh?

How to pick the next person?

Brilliantly, an idea came to me. "Duck… duck… duck… duck… duck… duck…" and so on and so forth. I stopped in front of Cid and called him a rhyming name that a first-grader certainly wouldn't have used. Well… come to think of it, six-year-olds these days…

He grumbled, but couldn't hide his smile at being chosen, and his annoyance at being insulted, "Yeah, yeah, Kid, you too."

"Cid! Don't call her that. Yuffie, don't talk like that in front of Marlene!" Tifa interjected.

I grimaced, trying (and failing) to look contrite. "_Right_." I tore off the shoddy wrapping job to reveal…

"Materia!"

Cid did a weird, self-satisfied nose-swipe, and probably stuck his thumb up his nose. "Uh-huh, $!*(% You'betch'a! Now who knows the little ninja %(#* best, eh? Eh? That's a %*#-right mastered Shiva—I did it my-$*#)-self! #%(#* right!"

"Cid, you shouldn't've."

"Haha, #($-"

"No, really. You shouldn't've. I already have one."

Total silence. Cid was left, maw gaping wide, mid-curse. "Wh-wha?"

The rest of Avalanche exchanged _uh-oh_ glances.

I waited a deliberate five seconds of silence before beaming, "Just kidding!"

Cid let out a violent gush of cursing that must have left him light-headed for the next hour. I turned my cat's grin to him, "Whaaaat?" I inquired, drawing the word out to ridiculous lengths. "I was just kidding!" I had a private _nyah, nyah, nyah_ moment behind my hand.

He _glared_.

Conceding, I hugged him. "Thank you, Cid!" Backing up and flopping down, I gave him a winsome smile that did nothing to buffer the red tint of anger slowly converging on his nose and ears. After letting the giggles coming from Marlene at Cid's face die down, I stood up, one quick, staccato motion. A righteous purpose in my stance, I could feel the mood changing.

I'd like to think it was the somberness in my gaze that changed the mood, but it was probably my wackiness.

I fixed each member with a hawkish stare, a stare that caught all their gazes (why bother doing it one at a time when you can just get them all at once?).

My throat rasped slightly painfully as I cleared it loudly, but, sadly, no one jumped—but even so, they were still totally surprised when I started flailing my arms around and giving lop-sided little hops in circles. "Come ooon!" I shouted in between hops, "Throw one—throw one!"

Tifa burst into laughter. "Hey!" I rounded on her, or tried to at least. I found myself staring face to face with Nanaki, who was perched on the couch next to Vincent. "Whoops." I told the ten Nanakis, "Sorry." I swiveled a dizzy 180°, turning to face Tifa. "Right. You. You think my Present Dance was funny? Huh?" She stifled a snigger. "Huh?"

"No. Of course not." This apology-of-sorts was ruined by the snort at the end.

"Right. Sure. Stick 'em up—hand over all presents!" I received a small-ish gift.

I made sure my expression was ecstatic as I tore off the paper, to reveal… "Triscuts?" Tifa giggled again. "Triscuts? No way. That's _just_ what I wanted." I am the master of sarcastic deadpans.

Ahem.

Well… _fine_! Excluding Vincent.

"I mean, no, really, Tifa. This is just too much—the tears are filling my eyes! Oh, what a-"

"Yuffie!" Tifa was _trying_ to look annoyed. "_Open_ the box? Huh? Sound familiar? Huh?" Her voice raised a playful decibel. "_Speak any English_?"

I was outraged. How dare she quote Ferris Bueller at me? "Hoohh…" My voice went kinda high, so only Nanaki could 'prolly hear it. "That hurts, Tifa—it really does." I wasn't quite sure if that was a perfect word-for-word quote, but she got the idea.

"Just open it."

I struggled with the tape on the lid, and then the tape, stuck to my finger, distracted me. This was all an act, of course, but it was fun, anyway. As I transferred the tape from finger to finger, then from finger to toe, back to finger, then to ground, then to nose, Tifa groaned. "Come on, Yuffie."

"Fine! Fine!"

With tape still on nose, I shook the box upside down and, lo and behold, into my lap dropped…

"_Coach_?" My jaw dropped.

Tifa squealed. "Yes!"

"But… it's hot pink, and shiny…" My eyes were wide with reverence as I lifted the coin purse/wallet thing.

Cid's eyes flashed with frustration. "What? I thought the ninja $*$^ _hates_ fashion #(**~!"

"Oh, come now!" I waved my hand airily. "This is _Coach_. Okay? This is…"

"Sparkly?" Piped Marlene.

"Nah. It's shiny. But it's _gorgeous,_ Tifa! This must've cost a fortune!"

"Bah!" Replied Tifa, waving the flies of Gil away from her head. "I couldn't resist, especially now that you _finally_ use a purse when we go shopping."

Cid rolled his eyes. "Women." He grunted. The Marshmallow grunted in response.

"Oh, come on, Barret! The sharpening kit thing you got me was great. I'll totally be using that on my shurikens." I looked around at the others. Tifa, after removing the tape from my nose, was snatching runaway pieces of wrapping paper and ribbon from the carpet and shoving them in her Garbage Bag of Doom. Just as I glanced at Cid, he wiped something on the front of his shirt. Grossness.

I turned to my right and caught Vincent's eyes. I was reminded vividly of the month before, when insomnia struck; I had sneaked down to the party downstairs to see the wreckage. Not like I'd ever count Vincent as wreckage, but I found him down there, hovered around for a couple minutes, then woke him up. Woke him up, by like, huffing on him, probably. (I was like, nose to nose with him.) Accidentally. So what do I do? "Oh! I'm the halitosis fairy! Bye!" and ran upstairs. Gee. That was mature of me, eh?

Forcibly shoving the blush from my cheeks and into my stomach, I turned back to Tifa, a second before she looked up and smiled. "So. One more left." I stared at her pretty blankly for a minute before remembering. "Ohh! Right! Yeah." I grinned. "Best for last, eh?" I could hear Cid about to complain, so I amended with a quick, "Just kidding!"

Vinnie was sitting on the KING RECLINER, the throne of TV watching and buffalo wing eating. And I know "KING RECLINER" doesn't need to be capitalized, but it sure gets the point across. This baby was Cloud's love and joy, his life, and he probably spit-shined it and wiped it down and everything—like his motorcycle—when we were all sleeping or something. It's a beau, and I… am using it as an excuse right now. Ahem.

None of this confusion showing on the outside, I bounced up to my feet, nearly tripped, and caught myself. This is usual occurrence so no one was surprised. Or would be if I fell. Fun, eh?

Ah, mood swing. Right. Just so you know, I think one of my cats must be my hormone gauge or something, 'cause I mood-swing like one. Ah, well. Anyway.

"Right, Vinnie-" Again, as usual, I could litr'elly (like the Brits) see him flinch, "-what's it?" And I know 'what's it', under any circumstances, shouldn't be used, especially to like, Vinnie (cue angel choir), but I demand slack. It's my birthday! Pffbbt. "C'mon. Stick 'em up. Where's the box?" I was grinning.

Silently, with a bit of amusement on what I could see of his face, Vin-Vin lifted his cape, so I could see that… _there was no box?_ "Right, okay. Don't, then." I pretended to be all huffy, 'cause I was positive something was coming. I mean, come on. This is Vincent. He's too nice to do something like that. Cid would. Cid has.

I continued. "And I know you're smiling behind that ridiculous blanket of yours, Vinnie."

He gave one of those sigh/chuckle things he does. "I didn't wrap it."

"It's too big?" I was getting hopeful.

"No, I just… didn't wrap it." That's Vincent for you. Why wrap it if she's going to tear it apart anyway?

"Whatever. Just gimme, gimme, gimme."

As he stood, I was positive he smiled this time. "You'll grow into it." He whispered/said (how do you describe it?) over his shoulder.

"What is it?" I asked his departing figure, "An accordion?" Mr. Figure gave no reply. My keen spidey-sense detected a laughing behind my back. Whirling, I confronted the culprit—Tifa—with a growl. "Whassofunny?"

Her smile flipped into a confused grimace. "What's… what?"

"I _said_, 'Whassufunbly.'" I purposely and tackily slurred it even worse.

"Whatever." Tifa rolled her eyes and, to my disappointment, dropped the subject.

Hearing the faint clinking sounds of Vincent's returning footsteps, I eagerly twisted around and faced the doorway again. He emerged, and my eyes latched onto a small brown bundle in his hand, for it was almost impossible for me to look at his face. I stood as he approached, stomach giving a horrible flip-flop while my heart simultaneously squeezed tight.

_No wonder girls get all breathy around their men._ Breathing didn't feel very easy at the moment.

"Just something." I barely registered the words as I took the bundle—book—out of his hand. It was leather, and it had a little stretchy clasp thingy. I couldn't help but like it immediately—I felt like an author or something. Someone important at least.

I unclasped it and rifled through the pages until I reached one that stuck out to me. The font—was it?—looked almost handwritten. It was simple, basic, but the words jumped out to me.

**There is no shame in growing old as the only other alternative is to die young.**  
_—Unknown_

My eyes met Vincent's, and I could tell that they were probably wider than dinner plates. I was taken aback at the amount of effort packed into this tiny book—and I still wasn't quite sure if it was handwritten or not… "Wow."

He smiled—yes! smiled—at me. "Keep reading."

"Okay…" Obediently, I glanced back down at the book. I flipped another of the delicate pages, instantly appreciating its rough texture, while, at the same time, cringing as I imagined someone's nail scratching down it. Noises get me like that—if it's loud, screechy, or if I feel it as much as I hear it, I go "Eee!"

I skipped countless pages before settling on one I liked.

******Whoever said sun brings happiness never danced in the rain.  
**_—K. K. Jackson  
_

"Ohh. I like this one." I turned my face up to Vinnie's, and I bet it looked like a sunflower turning towards the sun. Or you could say my grin was like rays of sunlight. Or say that my beam lit up the room. Either way—I'm not picky.

Vincent almost looked… relieved? "Good."

Yup. Just that. _Good_. Good. Like, that's it. Good. Like, he's commenting on the weather.

That's Vincent for you.

Feeling it was time to show everyone else some appreciation, I turned to face the others, huge grin in place (on ma _face_!). "Thanks, everyone! I _loooveee_ the prezzies!"

The party continued in a warm, cuddly way. We watched some movies, ate some popcorn, and played some games. It was _grrreeaat._

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...

The lights were dim and yellow, casting a brownish glow over everything. A slight flickering, caused by the unnecessarily lit candle on the side of my nightstand, gave me the feeling of being in the olden times. The book in my hands helped too. The aged feeling of Vincent's Quote-Book was unsurprising—it came from Valentine, after all—but enjoyable.

I glanced toward the door: shut firm and lock tight. Chee-yeck!

Almost reverently, I opened the book. Now, I'm not a huge reader—don't get me wrong, I read bunches. I enjoy reading and all the stuff, but like, I don't read as like, a pastime. I'm too busy saving the world. So, just the idea of me _reading_ before _bed_ when I could be _sleeping_ was way weird, but that just proved my utter devotion to the book's creator—'cause I could tell, studying the pages closely, that Vincent must have written it.

I opened to a random page and read the quote. My mouth dropped open, and I couldn't help but let out a giggle. It wasn't quite the quote that was hilarious, more the quoter. Author. Whatever. Actually, what was funniest was the fact that Vincent had the quote in the book. But, I supposed, it was a book for me, and he knew I'd love the quote. Which I did.

******You know you're in love when you don't want to fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.  
**_—Dr. Seuss  
_

I never knew Vincent was a Dr. Seuss fan.

I pondered the words for a moment, trying to decide if it was true or not (to me) and trying to keep myself from reading anything deeper into it.

Nix trying to not read anything into it, the next quote nearly made my heart stop.

**I need the starshine of your heavenly eyes, after the day's great sun.**  
_—Charles Hanson Towne  
_

I couldn't think of much to say, let alone think. Just the thought of someone saying that to, well, me, and meaning was simply unbelievable. Not like anyone had said that to me, but it's the _thought_. Duh. But just reading those words, "I need the starshine of your heavenly eyes," written in Vincent's hand, was just…

Torture. But beautiful.

I hate love.

I read for hours, unaware of time slipping past me in its never-ending stream. Only four things existed to me, at that moment: the candle, me, the book, and my imagination.

That night was unlike any I had ever had. I laughed, I cried, I thought, I nearly threw the book in frustration. I experienced dizzying heights of happiness and plummeting lows of pain.

I loved every minute of it.

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"Rule One: Cloud, the Wife is always right."

"Hah… yeah, Yuffie. I heard that one before—and I'm not getting married for three more mon-"

"Rule Two: If the Wife is not right, refer back to Rule One."

"Hah. Hah. Hah." _Squeak, squeak, squeak, _piped the glass in his hand.

Tifa's voice sounded from behind me, and I jumped. "Have you put Vincent's quote-book down, yet?"

"Uh… yeah. I haven't been up all night reading it." Shifty tone? Never.

"Pffft!"

"Stoppit! Anyway—Cloud needs it, what with you two getting married in a couple months…" Pouting, I swiveled on the barstool and faced Cloud again. His eyebrow had a vaguely cocked look to it, and he pinned me down with a flat expression as he methodically wiped the glass in his hand. Again… and again… and again… "Gee… I think it's clean."

His lips twitched minutely, but he didn't react and continued wiping.

"You thought it was funny," I muttered, flipping a page in the brown leather bound book in my hand, "admit it."

"No." He deadpanned. "It wasn't funny."

"_Come on_, Cloud! You thought it was funny!"

"No, I didn't."

"Yeah-huh!"

Tifa chimed in with some wisdom. "You know what they say," she chirped, peering over my shoulder at the words in the book, "'Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional!'"

"Shad_dup_!" I growled, swatting her away, slamming the book on Chili Davis.

...

* * *

...

"I want the chocolate. No—no, wait! The… uhh… moose track. Right."

I heard something that I would call (and he would later vehemently deny) a chuckle as Vincent turned to the Ice Cream Man. "One scoop of moo-"

"Wait! Is it moose track or moose tracks! If they're like, two different things, I think I definitely want the moose trac–"

Vincent talked over me. "One scoop of moose tracks-"

"No…I think the black cherry would be better."

He gave me ten seconds of silence, just to make sure I wasn't going to change my mind again. "Right. On-"

"Wa-wai-wait-wait! They have _cotton candy _ice cream! Ooh—I want the cotton candy!"

Vincent turned his very special "I'm _Not_ Amused" expression on me. I figured I should sweeten the deal.

Flick on the beam switch! "It will be funbly in my tumbly…" I could see, as Vincent looked back at the Ice Cream Man—to whom I sent a conspiratorial grin—him wanting to massage his temples, but he refrained. "One scoop of _cotton candy_ on a cone." His tone was more rushed than usual—he was probably hoping I wouldn't have time to change my mind again.

"I want a _sugar_ cone."

"Then why don't you _tell him_ that?" Oh _snap_. Closest to venom Vinnie ever got.

I dropped my elbows to the metal counter, still grinning. "On a sugar cone, please!" So angelic was my chiming, I am sure none could pass without stopping in awe.

Ahem.

The Ice Cream Man chuckled as he retrieved our orders—one vanilla for Vincent (although I was sure he wasn't going to eat it) and one cotton candy _on a sugar cone_ for me.

Once receiving our orders, we retreated to a safe distance, just in case the Ice Cream Man had hidden weapons in his cart, and out of sheer annoyance was going to try to kill us.

Or something like that.

I don't think he would, though. He thought it was funny—I could just tell. He was also, in no way, annoyed. 'Least not that I could tell. And trust me; I've seen my fair share of annoyed faces.

Vincent almost groaned as he slid onto a metal bench. "_Why_ do you do things like that, Yuffie?" I mocked astonishment. "For your enjoyment, of course." He made a helpless noise, but said no more.

Victory.

The day was a perfect one—a mild, balmy jewel in the midst of the hailstones of November. The last warm day—so I _had_ to get ice cream, therefore Vincent _had_ to take me. Of course. It's only logical.

The temperature sent little dribbles of ice cream down my cone, but they never got far.

It was perfect. We sat in a companionable silence, watching couples pass. The minutes lazily trickled by, caught in the lethargic stream of time.

Everything was singing with joy—even my ice cream. It probably went something like "Willy Wonka! Willy Wonka! The amazing chocolatier! Willy Wonka! Willy Wonka! Everybody give a cheer!"

It was great.

_BOOM_.

The world exploded. Aliens landed. You broke a nail. Sephiroth came back and killed someone. All the Materia in the world vanished. You got fired. The president was shot. The plague was unleashed upon all. You got dumped. You got an F in school. It's 2012. The moon crashed into Earth. Sephiroth is back. You were just bankrupt. Your camera blows up. Your family is dead. The Patriots won the Superbowl. Your kitty died. The cable company screwed up again. An earthquake swallowed Edge whole. Hurricane Alistair just ripped away half of Midgar. Meteor hit. Someone bombed Costa Del Sol. A plane crashed into Wutai. We lost the Olympics. You drop your laptop. In other words,_ the world freaking screwed up to the nth degree! _The bad meter just spiked to E99! It's the awful factor times infinity!

I leaned my head to lick a dribble off my cone, and _blam,_ _splat_, or whatever other horrific noise you can conjure. My ice cream fell off its cone. Like a mother parted with her child, a violent struggle ensued, but the cruel forces of gravity won.

I stared at the vivid blue mound, rapidly melting into the ground, still trilling its joyful refrain._ Willy Wonka…_

"_No!_" My tone was so intense, so fiercely anguished that Vincent nearly cricked his neck looking around. (I could hear it.) There was something in his eye, a wildly protective instinct or something that made him nearly freak when he heard that tone.

I'd dwell on that later, as I was currently suffering through seas of agony.

"_No!_" I shrieked/repeated, dumbfounded by the cruelty of the loss of this fine dessert.

"_What?_" He asked, sparing a glance at the surroundings, trying to pinpoint the danger my voice was screaming of. "Yuffie, what is it?"

"The…" my lip trembled—simply forcing the words out would prove too much for me to bear. With a shaking hand, I pointed at the sky-blue spot, tears springing to my eyes. Vincent glanced down, and I saw his brow knot in momentary confusion.

This confusion, however, was short-lived.

The look on his face. Ooh, me, oh my.

Lemme tell'ya. If looks could kill…

His expression growled, "Are you kidding me?" but he said nothing as he settled back, simply staring.

I sprang to my feet, avoiding the grave of the cotton candy corpse. "Look at it!" I shrieked, pointing to the ground. "Don't give me that look! I can't believe this! _The world can't be such a cruel pla-_"

Vincent cut me off. "Yuffie. You are too old for this behavior."

"_No!_" I crowed over him, not hearing a single word he said, "_This is too much! I can't stand it any longer!_" I was starting to attract looks from passersby. Eh. To heck with them.

I stomped my foot at the humanity of it all. "It's _dead_!"

"Yuffie, act your age."

"I will not act my-" I let out a colorful curse word, "-age!"

Vincent tried a different tack, barely refraining from massaging his temples. (Gosh, he does that a lot.) "Look, Yuffie. It's simply ice cream. You've had some already-" judging from the blue dot of deliciousness that had found its way to my nose—but he didn't mention this, "-so let's just go back to the bar."

I sucked in my breath, my expression darkening with every second. Even Vincent knew what was coming. "_No!_" I howled, "I want my ice cream!" Another foot stomp to punctuate this.

Vincent's eye twitched. "Yuffie, you are far too old to be acting like this-"

My breath caught in my throat—my expression must have been one of pure pain. "I'm too _old?_! _I'M TOO OLD_? Now I'm _old, and on top of it, I have NO ICE CREAM!_" My voice rose with every syllable, and I punctuated the last shriek with another footstomp. Haha, Valentine—bad move!

I heard a dude ask, as he walked by, "Gosh. Is that chick pregnant or something?"

It nearly ruined everything. The simple action of him saying that could have blown the entire operation. I wanted to crack up.

And it's _very_ hard for me to hide that fact, whenever it pops up, and I knew Vincent would see it, and not believe me.

So I did the only thing left to do. I _bawled._

Some tiny, inconsequential part of me felt bad for Vincent—he looked so freaking annoyed/uncomfortable. But only a very small part.

"Please, Yuffie. You are acting inappropriately for the situation."

My howls intensified. This was _fun_!

He broke. I could see it. His tone changed to something not unlike pleading. "What do you want?"

"I-" _hic! _"_want another-_" a sob escaped my lips and hiccupped my entire sentence, "_ice cream cone!_"

Vincent pondered for exactly 0.000039 seconds. "Fine. Let's go." He grabbed my arm—not gently, but not extremely rough…ly?—and all but dragged me to the Ice Cream Man. My tears resolved themselves quickly and the beam that took over was impossible to hide. Reaching the metal counter of the Ice Cream Man's Cart, Vincent opened his mouth. The words that followed were a.) nearly impossible to discern, b.) the fastest I have ever heard him speak. "Onecottoncandy icecreamsugarcone please."

I blinked.

The Ice Cream Man blinked.

Vincent blinked.

The passing people behind us blinked.

The dude-who-called-me-preggers blinked.

I blinked again. Just to be different.

Tentatively, unsure of himself, the Ice Cream Man questioned. "You want… a what?"

Valentine's eye and hand twitched simultaneously. This was probably one of his nightmares.

"One cotton candy ice cream sugar cone, please." He repeated, monotone and unpausing, but still saying it slower.

His grip on my arm had tightened ever-so-slightly, just to remind me not to speak. Pffbbt. I was getting what I wanted. Why would I speak? I like, never speak. You know? I'm like, as quiet as a mouse. Or an alien cat from Jupiter. I hear those things can't talk. But you see? "I _hear_" not "I say those things can't talk." Therefore I do more listening than talking! I mean! Come on. I've never been called motor-mouth or long winded or anything, so I'm not like, one of those people who goes on and on and on and on! I mean, I totally know when to stop and stuff, and like, even if I did go on and on and on and on, I still know what to talk about that's interesting, so people are like, never bored or anything, so I could really talk forever, if I did stuff like that, and people wouldn't mind. 'Cause I'd be talking about interesting stuff. And I never rant like some people do, so like, he didn't need to like, grip me to remind me not to talk. I never talk too much. I just don't. I mean, why do it? It's so totally worthless—it's like looking in the mirror or something! They're both just things I don't do. Like, who talks too much, anyway? Except like, celebrities—and who wants to be like them! They like, drink, and party, and like, get their licenses revoked and junk. Isn't that a funny word—revoked? Like, who came up with that? That's kind of like, stupid. They could've said, "yamkinded" instead of "revoked." It just sounds better, right? So like, if they had "yamkinded" as the word, I bet less people would get their licenses revoked. Like celebrities do. The idiots who talk too much. So yeah. I don't talk too much—but you know what's worse than that? People who stray off track or topic. It's _so_ annoying. I mean, come on! Stay on topic, dudes! Don't start talking about the price of tea in Wutai when you're discussing how Hurricane Alastair just tore half of Midgar away, or how Sephiroth just killed someone, if he came back, or like, how you just broke a nail or something—you know? So like, when people stray off-topic, it's just stupid. It says how stupid they are. But not really, 'cause being off-topic can't talk. That's why it has to have people stand up for it, 'cause it can't fight for its own rights. So like, never be mean to being off-topic or something—'cause it doesn't have any way of standing up for itself. So yeah. Don't ever talk too much—'cause you'd be stupid then. And like, that's not good. So don't be stupid, don't talk too much, don't be like a celebrity, and don't get your license yamkinded.

…

Uhm.

Oh, crap.

An ice cream cone was handed unceremoniously to me. "Thank you!" I trilled, my eyes the epitome of innocence.

"We're walking." Was his only response.

I didn't bother mentioning that I wanted to sit and eat my ice cream. I'd be killed.

After we walked a suitable distance away, Vincent groaned. "Yuffie. Why—_why_ do you do things like that to me? You are too old to be acting like that, and you know it."

I gave him a glance, an imperious, wise glance. "Age does not diminish the extreme disappointment of having a scoop of ice cream fall from the cone."

He blinked. In Vincent-language, this is an extreme show of emotion—in this case: confusion.

With a yaaaaaawwn, I reached into my pocket with one hand, and pulled out Vincent's little quote-book. I shook it open to the bookmarked page.

******Age does not diminish the extreme disappointment of having a scoop of ice cream fall from the cone.  
**_—Jim Fiebig_

"You said so yourself." I quipped happily, sliding the book back into my pocket and enjoying my well-earned ice cream and my well-earned victory.

...

* * *

...

_el fin_

La amo. =D Or is it "lo amo"? Or "yo lo amo"? Or "yo la amo"_—_**WAIT.** I know what it is.

"I LOVE THIS." C:

See, it's Vincent's Just Desserts, 'cause he did it to himself basically, by putting the quote in the book. (which I want, badly)

So yes.

I think I'm in love with writing drabbles. Or one-shots. Or whatever.

I just wish you guys could see what it looks like on my word document_—_I've got the best font ever. =D

Anyway. Thanks for reading, and thanks for the support.

...

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...

Thanks, fantubers!

...

* * *

...


	6. Apologize

_Author's Note:_

**Rating: **T  
**Notes:** Wrote this in... 20 minutes, without any pre-planning. (Compare this to two weeks, my average time.) And if something doesn't make much sense, that means it doesn't matter. After noticing that Vincent has been horribly out of character, I hoped to bring him back in a bit with this. I don't know if it worked, but we'll see. (AKA, you'll tell me. Right? (x )  
**Music:** Apologize by OneRepublic.  
**Timeline: **Post-DOC. Like, a month. It doesn't really matter when.  
**Drabbletine Summary:** He swore he'd never be her Edward Cullen.  
**Disclaimer**: I'm trying a new writing style a—oh. You mean the owning things thing? Don't own, don't sue. Oh—I actually dislike Twilight. (Sorry Twilightubers.)

...

* * *

...

**_apologize;_**

She always said she gave him crazy ideas, (she said) that she knew she did, even if he hid them, and maybe so. But she's always said a lot of things, and that doesn't make them all right, but right now she says they're all invited and it gives him a crazy idea, which he flat out rejects, because crazy ideas aren't the way he does things, and he refuses to her Edward Cullen, or whatever she's always chattering about. Still, he knows that he's going (there, not going to be) anyway, because someone has to look out for her, and that's not going to be Reno, because he's only looking out for one thing, and it's not her. She's still too young for this, and she knows it, but she's also too old for this, so that's why she does it all, and her juvenile, childish, flat-out crazy heart can't help what it does, but she knows better than to trust Reno, but she does anyway, and Vincent does understand, but it doesn't stop it all from being less juvenile or less childish.

And that decides it, and now the self-delusion comes easily—she does need protection—and after that, all that's left is the part when his mind says no and then he decides not to, but that part never comes—maybe it was distracted when she caught his eye on the way out of the room—and while something tells him this isn't a good idea, that doesn't stop him from deciding (to, not deciding to not).

Because he knows it's childish, and juvenile, and flat-out crazy, but she said she always gave him crazy ideas, and maybe so.

...

* * *

...

Arriving late to the dance wasn't quite part of his plan, but he decides that it doesn't really matter and slips his mask on, and he finds himself hesitating outside before plunging inside, 'cause it's that moment when he enters the room—all those people—that the panic hits, and maybe that's why he goes straight to the bar, but he doesn't think so, because he doesn't order anything, he just sits there. Waiting is a skill that she never seemed to master, because he catches sight of her standing across the room.

Somebody should tell her that a mask doesn't change the fact that she's one of the shortest people in the room, he decides, and finds himself already standing, walking across the room, and then he's so close (_so close_) to reaching her, when Reno puts a hand on the crook of her arm, and turns her around. He doesn't see her expression, but he was good at reading body language back at ShinRa, and he knows that expression on his face.

That's when he gets that sick taste in his mouth, and actually starts to hate Reno, because who the **** is he to take advantage of a naive, vulnerable, innocent girl, and he wants to stop him, stop them, but he doesn't know what's the right thing to do, so he settles back into what feels comfortable: slipping back to his chair at the back, and ordering a drink to wash that sick taste away.

Because she's naive, and vulnerable, and innocent but she's always said that now she's an adult, and maybe so.

...

* * *

...

She's back in the early morning, eyes dead and her makeup smudged down her cheeks in two smoky tracks, and that's when the guilt that's flooding into his stomach mixes with his last drink and forces him to put the bottle down for a second. It doesn't matter, though, because she doesn't say anything to him, as she gathers her wounded pride, gathers her shaken, shaking heart, and disappears up the stairs.

And in his sick, shaking heart, he knows he needs to go tell her, but his wounded pride won't let him, so he settles back and pours himself a drink.

She's shaken, and sick, and wounded, but she's always said that she can take care of herself, and maybe so.

...

* * *

...

It's the next morning that he knocks on her door, and she doesn't answer, but somehow he knows what that means, and he pushes it open. He knows that just because she doesn't say anything doesn't mean she's not glad he came, because she's curled up on her bed, with her pillow in her arms, and she's doesn't need to tell him that she's never felt more alone. It's then that he doesn't know what she wants, and realizes that he doesn't know what he wants (what he wants that's plausible, 'cause there's a lot that he's never wanted more in his entire life).

So he sits down on her bed, staring at the golden monstrosity affixed to his arm, and he's thinking about the glass that he held in it last night, and wishing he could have it back, when she crawls over to him, and settles down next to him, still hugging herself, still shaken, still wounded. He knows she's starving for someone to care, and he doesn't know why he was the one who was landed with the job, because he swore he'd never be her Edward Cullen, but he knows that she's there now, and he's there now, and he can't leave her, because he does care, because he cares too much, so he puts his arms around her and holds her like the angel heaven let him think was her.

Because she's flawed, and human, and young, but she always said that nobody's perfect, and maybe so.

...

* * *

...

i less than three you guys. :3  
thanks for reading.  
i honestly don't know if this is good or not, but... hopefully we'll see?  
and the whole run-on thing was actually done purposefully.  
obviously.

weighing in at a whopping 921 words, this is my shortest drabbletine to date.

fanfiction won't let me double-break my line breaks.  
it's supposed to look much more spaced out than this, which lends to the effect and feeling, and helps the whole experience along.  
so yeah. fanfiction is mean.  
seriously.

anyway.

thanks.

**Latte**

...

* * *

...

_i loved you with a fire red,  
now it's turning blue_


	7. Bruised

Author's Note:

**Rating: **T or K+. Yay.  
**Notes:** Uhm. I can't even think about how bad this probably is. Fact being, I like it, I'm exhausted, and I'm going to bed before I can rethink the idea of posting it. Crossover with Kingdom Hearts. (Oh, come on. They're basically the same thing.)  
**Music:** Bruised by Jack's Mannequin.  
**Timeline: **Post-Apocalyptic Heartless attack and subsequent swallowing of Gaia. Yay. :D  
**Drabbletine Summary:** Of paper hearts and wedding bands.  
**Disclaimer**: I own neither Kingdom Hearts, nor Final Fantasy VII. Boo.

xxx

* * *

xxx

...

"_hours pass  
__and she still counts the minutes  
__that i'm not there  
__i swear i didn't mean for it  
__to feel like this  
__like every inch of me is  
__bruised."_

...

xxx

* * *

xxx

_**4:56 AM**_

The hours will fly right by without you noticing, but it's every dragged-out minute (_I swear, I can hear them ticking in my brain_) that really kills me, because they're the ones that remind me of all the minutes I spent waiting for him.

And it's knowing he's not coming back that really kills me, because—

And it's every breath that really kills me, because every breath is just like another little lie, and every breath hurts my beaten lungs, and it's all I can do to not just hug myself and spend the night (_the day_) sobbing and counting the passing seconds.

...

**_4:57 AM_**

And it's the sound of quiet breathing from the other room that kills me, 'cause she doesn't trust me enough to sleep in her own room, because she's not sure what I might do to myself if she's too far away, so she sleeps in the room next to mine.

And it's all I can do, some nights, to smother my screaming in the pillow, and hope that she's really sleeping, because they worry too much as it is. But I can't help but remembering his even, gentle breathing on the back of my neck—

_**...**_

xxx

* * *

xxx

_**5:06 AM**_

I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him—

_The tears are burning my cheeks like bitter medicine,_

_and I know the picture is an ugly one,_

_so I suck in a shaky breath and try to dry my eyes._

_For his sake. Because he's always said I'm stronger than I looked._

_He puts a hand to my chin, and tilts my head up,_

_like I'm twelve again._

_His voice is crystal clear in my bitter recollections._

...

"_Hey._

_Don't cry._

_I'll be back."_

...

And the tears are drowning my pillow again.

… _you didn't seem like a liar._

_**...**_

_**5:09 AM**_

I hate him.

_**.**__**..**_

xxx

* * *

xxx

**_8:09 AM_**

And it's the fourth sleepless night, and I can see the worry in Aerith's eyes as she glances at me, over my untouched plate of eggs. "Yuffie, are you ok-"

Leon gives her a quick, sharp look that isn't lost on me.

'Cause he knows all about grief.

_**...**_

* * *

**_2:20 PM_**

And I don't even think about blaming myself, don't even have the easy out of blaming him. Because it's nobody's fault. But that doesn't stop my wishing that he'd come through that door so I could punch him and tell him how much I hate him. How much I hate him for leaving me, and how much I hate me for letting him.

I hate him I hate hate hate—

"_I-"_

_**...**_

xxx

* * *

xxx

**_7:45 PM_**

And the minutes are slowly tick-tick-ticking by, and I'm on the floor, in the corner of my room, (_sobbing again_) my hands shaking, spilling all those silly wishes onto the ground and

_**...**_

**_7:46 PM_**

what kills me is how much these used to mean to me, how I spent all those hours, minutes, seconds (_waiting for him to come home_) but now they're scattered all over the floor and the white is slowly turning grey from the tear drops falling like bombs onto the thin white paper hearts covering the hardwood

_**...**_

_**7:47 PM**_

of my bedroom floor and I grab the scissors in my shaking, shaking hands, as my brain is screaming at me that this won't work. My (paper)heart won't die as easily as I can cut them to pieces (_as easily he cut it to pieces_) and he was already dead to begin with, even if I didn't know it,

even if he never knew it—

...

I hate him. Leviathan, I hate him so much.

_"I l-"_

_**...**_

xxx

* * *

xxx

**_12:34 PM_**

It's an unwilling, sulky girl that Squall drags to the bailey, and my stick arms are shaking by the time we're done training. He gives me no excuses, and drives me harder than I can take, but behind my gritted teeth and glare, I'm thankful, because it stops me from thinking.

_**...**_

_**12:34 AM**_

And for the first time, I have physical pain to dwell on, and it drives the hurt of every passing minute (that he's not here) from my mind, and I sleep,

"_I'll be back."_

And it's hearing his voice in my head every night that kills me, because even if he used to whisper in my ear, he's never gonna again. I'm never going to feel his warmth, pressed against my back, and I lie in bed and sob and shake from the hurt of it.

_**...**_

xxx

* * *

xxx

**_3:38 PM_**

And it never occurred to me before, that I'd never asked Squall how he survived losing her.

(But I didn't lose him.

He left.)

I hate him.

And what kills me is the fact that

_**...**_

_**3**__**:39 PM**_

it's not his fault, as much as I want to blame him, and even if I spent the rest of my life hating him, it's not gonna bring him back

_I hate him!_

And I can't hate him, as much as I want to.

"_I love-_"

_**...**_

xxx

* * *

xxx

**_12:40 PM_**

And what kills me is that I can spend the entire day curled on my bed, not thinking, knowing that they're worried about me, knowing that he wouldn't want me to die just because he did, but I can't help the fact that it feels like my figurative paperheart's stopped beating, and if he can go away and die, then so can I. (But I can't.)

And I'm so sick, so sick and tired of being so sick and tired. (We were both such magnificent liars.)

_**...**_

**_12:44 PM_**

But even if I want to stay there all day, that's not what he would want, so I drag myself into the kitchen to sit and stare at the table.

Because he wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life dying.

_**...**_

**_1:45 PM_**

I don't even question Squall as he hauls me up and leads me out, back to the bailey.

_**...**_

_**1:48 PM**_

But we don't train; he just sits on the edge of the wall, and looks off into the distance. I know there's no point to ask why he brought me here, since the response will be something grunted, like, "Better view than the table."

_**5 PM**_

And he's not back, but it's a beautiful sunset anyway.

_**7 PM**_

Hours pass, and I'm still counting the minutes.

And Squall finally moves again. Gracefully, he stands, puts a hand on my shoulder, and leaves without a word. Typical.

Hours, or minutes later, I glance down at my hands. The sparkle on my left hand catches my eye, and I take the ring off. Twenty. Widowed.

And the tears are coming again. I squeeze the band in my palm, feeling the stone cut into my hand.

I'm possessed by a terrible, wild urge, and I know, terrified, that I'll regret it, but before I can change my mind, I stand, my sobs jagged and my throat choked.

I fling it away.

It plunges, a lonely bright star, falling in the night, a white twinkle in the dusk, falling down, down, down, until it disappears from view, sinks into the ocean. Away from me. Away.

And I cry.

_**...**_

xxx

* * *

xxx

**_2:43 AM_**

Squall is sitting at the table, and shows no surprise when I stumble in. I catch his gaze, stagger past him up the stairs, and lock myself in my room. He waits a respectful amount of time before following me up the stairs, and closes the door to his room.

I'm curled up on my bed, breathing raggedly from holding in my sobs.

Because he always hated to see me cry.

Because I owe him that much.

And it's not his fault.

And I don't hate him.

But I know he's not coming back.

But I don't want to live like this anymore.

And the tears are coming, but for the first time in forever, they don't tear me apart, and they don't hurt, and my bruised and beaten lungs are finally working again, and I lose track of how many minutes I lie there.

Finally, I sleep.

...

xxx

* * *

xxx

"_I love you."_

"_I love you too, Vinc—"_

_**...**_

xxx

* * *

xxx

**_8:59 AM_**

And I am finally waking up.

...

xxx

* * *

xxx

**enjoy?**

-Latte

**EDIT:** Fanfiction hates my formatting. Updated 5/11.

**EDIT 1.2: **Not quite sure if the bailey overlooks water. Let's pretend it does.


End file.
